


The Way You  Look Tonight

by impalawinchester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-05-13 01:09:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14739245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impalawinchester/pseuds/impalawinchester
Summary: How Sam and Dean switched from their crap fed suits into the marvelous outfits they have now and realized their feelings for each other in the process.





	The Way You  Look Tonight

Dean marched into the motel room with a shit-eating grin on his face, smug as hell, still covered in ectoplasm from the latest hunt, which they had just wrapped up. The brothers needed to be hitting the road, so Sam was packing up their stuff for the drive that would probably last well into the following day, since it was already three a.m. 

“Dean, where’d you put our shampoo?” Sam asked while he shoveled clothes into their duffels, glancing out the window periodically because no matter how many times they took care of a job and fled a town to avoid questions, Sam’s hands still shook with nerves at the prospect of getting caught. 

“Under the bed. Listen, we aren’t heading out just yet.” 

“Dean, if this is about that ginger waitress at the café, you can forget it,” Sam said, already waiting for the fight, strung out, and unwilling to put up with Dean’s insistence on getting laid at all costs. Sam told himself it wasn’t a personal problem. It was just the fact that they were taking a huge risk staying in Bumfrig, Iowa another second. 

“It’s not about the waitress, but she was – ” Dean whistled, “hot as hell. I saw a tux place back on Main Street.” 

“Your point? We already have our fed suits,” Sam shot back, telling himself the irritation was because of Dean’s unhelpfulness with the packing and not that fact that he wanted to be looked at the way Dean looked at that waitress. 

Dean grabbed Sam by the shoulders, turning him away from the task at hand, which was doing a quick check to make sure he hadn’t neglected to pack anything. 

“But we don’t have nice suits,” Dean answered, “and right now, Sammy, we have the opportunity of a lifetime.” 

“What are you getting at?” Sam groaned, finally giving up looking over his brother’s shoulder to continue scanning the room. 

“I don’t think they’re going to miss a few jackets. And pants. And shoes. And maybe even a tie or two.” Dean grinned again, head tilted forward, just waiting for Sam’s stamp of approval. 

They needed to leave town. They needed to put as many miles between here and wherever their next hunt was as possible in the next few hours. Sam also had to find that next hunt and convince Dean it was worth checking out and listen to Dean whine about being hungry. 

Sam had to get sleepy and nod off in the passenger seat while Dean’s music played quietly, and his big brother watched the road and he had to be able to feel safe, for those brief moments before sleep, because he couldn’t ever tell Dean how much it meant to him when they were just driving and there was no one to bother them.

Sam needed to be home, at least for a little while, since he couldn’t have what he really wanted. 

But Dean’s eyes were eager and filled with mischief, and they were focused totally on Sam, and the younger Winchester couldn’t help but huff a quick ‘fine.’ If Dean was happy and Sam was the cause of it, that was good enough for him.

“This is gonna be worth it, Sam, I swear. Let’s go get us some clothes!” And with that, Dean was carrying both their bags out the door and Sam was closing it behind them. 

 

The shop on Main Street was high-end, with men’s clothing spaced evenly – he’d even go so far as to say sparsely – throughout the inside – Sam recognized that this spacing meant pricey. In Palo Alto, sometimes his friends would drag Sam along to pick up a new shirt or the like and those stores looked like this. And at once Sam was reminded of the life he hadn’t quite lived, had tried desperately to cling to, had been torn away from by his brother. 

How could he have wanted to live a life without Dean anyway? They were brothers, they were family, sure, but Dean was his best friend, his protector, and the person he cared about more than his own damn life. 

Not that that fact was saying much at the moment. 

Anyway, Sam followed his brother around the store, anxiously looking around to make sure they hadn’t set off a security alarm while they were breaking in. But in Bumfrig, Iowa, no one stole. 

“Okay so I’m thinking this, and this, oh – and this, Sammy. Feel that fabric,” Dean said as he flung items at Sam, who caught them best he could while he trailed behind his brother. 

Then Dean grabbed a handful of stuff for himself, tucked it under his arm in a rather cumbersome way – what with the new pair of boots and a new jacket – and started to head for the back door. 

“You’re done?” Sam asked, incredulous. That had taken all of ten minutes. 

“We don’t even know if this stuff fits.” Dean turned back to his brother, disbelief written all over his face. 

“Sammy, you’re not saying – ” 

“Dean, get in the dressing room before I change my mind.” Dean didn’t need to be told twice. He ran off like a damn school girl to the curtained-off dressing rooms, at once yelling out to his brother about the intense set up. 

“Can you believe people shop like this all the time?” Dean asked with a chuckle from behind a door. Sam chose the room opposite him and dug into the clothes. It was true: the dressing room had a couch in it and good lighting and cream carpeting. 

When Sam emerged in a new sweater, pair of slacks, and new shoes, Dean was already checking himself out in the mirror. And damn, Sam could understand why. 

He was in a gray tweed jacket with a sweater underneath and a white button down, a pair of nice-fitting black pants and boots that Dean stuck out for inspection. 

“It’s like wearing frigging marshmallows on my feet.” Then Dean looked up at Sam, did a conspicuous once-over. 

“So that’s what you look like when you’re not drowning in flannel,” Dean commented and turned back to the mirror. Sam snorted. 

“You wear flannel, too.”

“Not as much as you, bitch.” 

“Jerk.” 

Sam had to tear his eyes away from his brother. He looked incredible, to say the very least. The clothes fit him perfectly, snug but not too tight, and everything that was usually hidden behind work boots and blood-stained jackets was out for Sam’s inspection. 

“Whaddya think, Sam?” Dean asked, adjusting his collar and cuffs. 

“It fits.”

“For a guy who’s checking me out, that’s all I get?” 

Sam was powerless against the blush that crept onto his face. He ducked his head and scratched the back of it, and he couldn’t even offer a protest. He was so stupid to say yes to this. Why hadn’t he just told Dean no and dragged him back to the highway like they always did? 

Sam headed back to his dressing room to get out of the ridiculous clothes and later, he’d pretend to fall asleep in the passenger seat. He’d be dying knowing that he’d been so obvious with Dean. He was such a dumbass.

What the hell was Sam thinking, blatantly watching Dean like that? Just because he had ugly, unfortunate feelings didn’t mean that he had to act on them. He had plenty of practice making the right choice even when everything else told him to make the wrong one. Dean shouldn’t have been any different.

“Heya, Sammy, hold on,” Dean said and turned his brother around. 

“C’mon, we have to go before we get caught.” Sam wouldn’t look at Dean. 

“I was just kidding. I didn’t mean to weird you out. Hey,” Dean said and finally got Sam to meet his eyes, “you don’t look too bad yourself.”

Damn Sam if he blushed again, but he’d already been to hell once and the way his brother was looking at him at that moment made him go weak in the knees. 

“Thanks, Dean.” 

“You’re welcome. Thanks for the fashion show.” 

“’S fine,” Sam answered with a small smile.

“We should probably go,” Dean admitted, not moving an inch, only biting his lip and glancing away for a moment before he met Sam’s eyes again. Did Sam imagine the batting of Dean’s eyelashes? 

“Probably.” Sam didn’t move either. Dean licked his lip. Was Sam reading the situation wrong? What was Dean doing? What stupid act was Sam about to commit on a whim just because his brother held his gaze for more than five seconds? 

Sam surged forward and his lips crashed against Dean’s. He was in Dean’s space, he’d popped the bubble that kept them just far enough away from each other for Sam to lose his mind waiting for an accidental brush of the hand. 

But after the initial collision of lips, Sam was frozen, leaning towards Dean with his hands awkwardly floating just around his brother, unable to continue the kiss, terrified to move for fear of what Dean would do. He was waiting for yelling, or for Dean to tell him to get the fuck lost. 

But what happened instead was Dean pushing Sam back a little and looking up at him with those perfect green eyes and Sam was already hating himself for what he’d done and trying to think of ways to apologize, to explain.

“Take it easy, Sammy,” was what Dean said in the end, quietly, and afterwards he touched Sam’s cheek and pulled him in for their second kiss. It was slow and steady on Dean’s part – Sam was shaking with the storm of emotions flooding his system. 

Dean was kissing him back? How could that be?

But it was, and it was wonderful. It was Dean’s hands holding in close, pulling him down to meet him halfway. It was Sam finally regaining control of his body and running his hands up and down Dean’s back and sides and through his short hair. It was a breathy little gasp from Sam – Dean would tease him later – and a soft sigh from Dean against Sam’s lips. 

It was, in Sam’s opinion, perfection. 

When they finally broke apart, Sam couldn’t manage to open his eyes. His lips were half-parted and his breaths were irregular. Dean laugh was quiet in the empty dressing room.

“Where did that come from?” Sam managed to ask, watching his brother for a trace of disgust, for a trace of anything that would shatter what just happened between them. 

“Must be the way you look tonight,” Dean answered, the grin back, as he pulled him in for another kiss. 

“Dude, you didn’t just reference Sinatra,” Sam with a chuckle. 

“Shut up. Let’s get out of here before we get caught.”

“You know what? Maybe we should stay a little longer.” Sam smirked at his brother, slung his arms around Dean’s waist the way he had imagined doing for years. 

“That’s okay by me.”

And so they stayed in the dressing room of the store until dawn, wrapped up in each other, until they finally snuck out the way they came to be at home. But that time, home included intertwined fingers and quick kisses to Dean’s neck and the knowledge that whatever motel they stopped at for the night, Dean would be able to say “One king, please.” 

And it was all because of how Sam looked that night.


End file.
